These Girls (33 page)

One minute,
Renee mouthed as she glanced up and saw Cate. She quickly wrapped up the call and smiled.

“Are you up for coffee?” Cate asked.

“I’d love it,” Renee said.

“Okay if we go to Starbucks instead of the cafeteria?” Cate didn’t want to run into anyone they knew. Especially not Sam—or Trey. This morning she’d received an e-mail from Trey, just a single line: Have you talked to her yet?

She’d written Not yet and deleted the message. But she needed to do it soon. Trey was wrapping up his article, and Cate had unveiled a few of his quotes as a preview at the latest editorial meeting. People were salivating at the promise of the piece. She’d have to talk to him about the story—probably multiple times. She couldn’t put off the conversation with Renee much longer, because her relationship with Trey only promised to intensify. It was bad enough that she’d let things between them get to this point.

“Let me just hit Save and . . . Okay, let’s go.” Renee grabbed her coat from the back of her chair. As she stood up, Cate did a double take. Renee’s hips had noticeably shrunk, and her collarbone was pronounced. She’d never say it to Renee, but Cate
thought she’d looked better before—voluptuous and vibrant. Now her face seemed too hollow, and dark shadows underlined her eyes.

Renee took a step and stumbled slightly, then grabbed the edge of her desk for balance. “Darn heels,” she said. “You’d think by now I’d be used to walking on the balls of my feet.”

They walked to the corner Starbucks and found it nearly empty between the morning and lunchtime rushes. Renee made a beeline for two oversize chairs by a window while Cate stood in line to get their drinks—a latte loaded with a shot of vanilla for her, and plain coffee with a dash of skim milk for Renee.

“How’s your mom doing?” Cate asked as she settled into the seat opposite Renee’s and handed her the coffee, waving away her offer of money.

Renee took a careful sip and set down her drink. “A little better. I talked to her three times yesterday. She’s still at the hotel, but I think she might go home soon. I guess it was a delayed reaction. To tell you the truth, I was surprised by how well she was handling everything. I know I would’ve been furious in her shoes.”

“Has she spoken to your father?”

Renee shook her head. “Not yet. She said he’s been calling, but she keeps hanging up. But she asked me if I thought she should talk to him next time. I feel like I should go home, but . . . she said not to. She wants a little time alone.”

Renee rubbed her temples, as if trying to massage away a headache. “I just can’t imagine them without each other.”

“It doesn’t sound like that’s going to happen,” Cate said. “Maybe your mom only needs a little time?”

“I hope so,” Renee said. “There’s something else, though.” She took another sip of coffee. “I got an e-mail from Becca last night. I’d sort of forgotten about her with . . . well, with everything going on.”

“What did she say?”

“That she’s sorry. She feels like she pushed too quickly to have a relationship with all of us. She said she canceled her plane reservation to come here.”

“Oh, Renee,” Cate said, more in surprise than anything else, because she could see sadness in her roommate’s eyes.

“I keep thinking about what I said to her when she called,” Renee said. “I asked her, ‘What did you
do
?’ Like she was to blame for everything. She said it was her fault, but it wasn’t. I think I just felt suspicious of her, and maybe threatened by her. And now I can’t stop thinking about how all she wanted was to get to know us.”

“Do you want to call her?” Cate asked.

“Yeah, I’m going to,” Renee said. “And I thought I’d ask if we can get together when I go home for the holidays.” She sighed and leaned back in her chair. She looked so tired, Cate thought. Her skin was chalky, and even her lips looked dry.

“I don’t know, maybe I should just get on a plane today and go see my parents. Screw the beauty editor job. Diane’s probably going to get it anyway. God, it’s all such a mess. Can we talk about something else?”

“Sure,” Cate said. She couldn’t bring up Trey, not now. Instead, she found herself saying, “Can I get you some water?”

“No, I’m good.”

“How about a mini-cupcake? They’ve got really good carrot cake ones.”

“Nah,” Renee said, rubbing her temples again.

“Oh, come on.” Cate forced a laugh. “If I buy it for you the calories won’t count.”

Renee suddenly sat up straight. “I don’t want it, okay?” she snapped. “It isn’t that easy for me, Cate. The calories actually do count. I can’t just drink the vanilla lattes you bring me and eat cupcakes and fit into a size four.”

Cate felt color flood her cheeks. “I never meant—”

“I’m sorry,” Renee said. She exhaled slowly. “I’m just stressed.”

“Don’t give it another thought,” Cate said, even though her feelings were hurt. She’d brought Renee that latte after the awful blog comments as a gesture to show she cared. She’d never imagined it would somehow offend her roommate.

“I should get back to work,” Renee said. “Although I feel sort of ridiculous referring to tweeting as work.” As she stood up, Cate noticed again how thin she’d become, and she thought back to the slip of paper on Renee’s desk, tallying her calories for the day.

“Renee? I really am sorry. What I said was thoughtless.”

“Oh, I’m just being premenstrual. Ignore me,” Renee said. She gave Cate a quick hug. “Come on, let’s go.”

As she and Renee walked back to the office, Cate couldn’t help hearing the echo of what Renee had said:
My dad started their relationship with a lie. I don’t know if she’ll be able to forgive him for that.

Now Cate was doing the exact same thing to Renee. Underneath their friendship, like a simmering fault line, lay a lie.

Abby put down her pen and slowly folded her latest letter before tucking it into an envelope. She’d been writing to Annabelle every few days, recalling little moments they’d shared together. Once, Abby had driven Annabelle to Candy Cane City Park so the little girl could see the horses at the nearby stable. It had been a golden morning, and the smell of fresh-cut grass had filled the air. Abby had held Annabelle up to a wooden fence and watched the little girl’s face light up as horses trotted past. One had stopped near them, probably hoping for an apple, and suddenly let out a loud, wet snort. Annabelle had frozen, then burst into laughter. For the rest of the day, Abby
had imitated the noise just to hear Bella’s surprisingly deep, funny laugh again.

She missed Bob, but she ached for Annabelle.

“Up for some lunch?” Trey was standing in the doorway to her room, holding a brown paper bag.

Abby caught the smell of something delicious, and her mouth watered. She was suddenly ravenous, for the first time in recent memory.

“You pick,” Trey said. “Turkey with avocado, or a Reuben.”

“I think my appetite is coming back,” she said, climbing off the bed and reaching for the bag. She followed him into the kitchen, and they sat on adjoining stools, munching in silence for a few minutes. She ate half the turkey sandwich with a few chips, and drank most of a bottle of lemonade, then felt full. She silently pushed the rest of her meal to Trey, just as she’d done hundreds of times when they were kids, and he finished it quickly.

“I’m glad you ate something,” he said. “You’re looking better, Abby.”

“I’m feeling better,” she said. Then she sighed. “I just . . . I don’t know what I’m going to do with my life now.”

Trey glanced at her but didn’t say anything. She’d forgotten how he did that—and how it always made her open up.

“I already told you I fell in love with the father at my job,” she said. “His name is Bob.”

She saw the look in her brother’s eyes.

“Trey, it wasn’t like that,” she said. “I pursued him just as much.
More.
”

“Okay,” he said.

“I messed everything up,” Abby said. She rubbed her eyes and kept her hands there for a long moment. “It never would have worked out between us. Bob isn’t going to leave his wife. If he’d wanted to, he could have come after me. It wouldn’t have
been hard for him to find me. He knows you’re my brother. He could have called you to see where I was.”

“He hasn’t tried to reach you?” Trey asked.

“He just left a couple of short messages on my cell phone, saying he missed me.” She’d deleted them all after listening, then turned her phone off again.

“His loss,” Trey said. “I mean it, Abby.”

“Thanks.” When she spoke again, her question surprised even Abby.

“Is there something going on between you and Renee?”

Trey blinked. “Why do you ask?”

Abby shrugged. “I picked something up the last time we were at the apartment. I thought maybe that was why you wanted me to stay there when you were out of town.”

“We went out a few times,” Trey said. “It didn’t go anywhere, though.”

“She’s been so nice to me,” Abby said slowly. “Cate, too, but Renee’s the one I feel really close to. When you were away at the magazine awards, she asked me what my favorite food was, like she was just making conversation, and I told her chocolate chip cookies. The next morning I heard her leave the apartment really early. When she came back she was holding a bag of groceries. She’d gone out to buy stuff so we could make cookies together.”

“She did that?” Trey’s voice sounded funny—tight.

“Trey, why didn’t it go anywhere? Between the two of you, I mean. She’s so great.”

Her brother didn’t answer at first. Finally, he said, “I don’t know. . . . I guess she wanted a boyfriend.”

“And you didn’t want that?”

Trey lifted a shoulder. “Not really.”

Abby reached out and trapped the last potato chip under her
index finger, pressing down and breaking it into a dozen tiny shards.

“Do you think we both have trouble in relationships because our parents are so cold?” she asked. “When I was studying early childhood development, I learned about patterns in families. Boys who have fathers that abuse their mothers are more likely to grow up to be abusers. And girls who grow up in that environment are more likely to be abused. . . . I keep thinking about it. How we’re compelled to create the very thing we despise just because it seems normal. This guy Pete that I was dating . . . I never really felt close to him, even though we went out for two years.”

“Could be part of it.” Trey spun his lemonade bottle between his hands. “Our parents aren’t the best role models. But I don’t think they get the final say in who we become.”

He finished off his drink before speaking again. “Have you talked to them lately? Because you know they’ve called here for you a couple times, right?”

Abby nodded. “Yeah, you told me. I haven’t been up to calling them back yet.”

“Okay,” he said.

“Did they . . . say anything to you when they called?” she asked after a pause.

Trey shook his head. “Not really. You know Mom and Dad. God forbid they talk about anything other than home repairs or the weather.”

Abby gave a little laugh that died in her throat as she looked down at her plate and noticed a green smudge around the rim. Avocado. She closed her eyes and saw the funny, shocked look on Bella’s face the first time Abby spooned a bit of it into her mouth.

“I wanted a family,” she whispered. Tears began to roll down
her cheeks. “It wasn’t only about Bob. I wanted to have a child and a home. I wanted to be happy.”

Trey reached over and rested a hand on her back. “You’ll have that someday. I promise you.”

“I’m sure Annabelle has a new nanny now. She won’t remember me, you know. She’s too young. But I’ll never forget her.”

“Part of her will remember you, Abby. Maybe not your name or your face, but you were the one talking about how powerful early childhood experiences are. She won’t lose that.”

Abby ducked her head, then made herself look at him. “There’s something I have to ask you.” Her voice faltered as anxiety swelled inside her. “It’s about Stevie. You know I don’t have any memories of him. You were the only one who ever talked to me about him.”

Trey turned on his stool to face her. “Are you having memories now, Abby? Is that what’s going on?”

Abby nodded. “Dreams, mostly. Annabelle was getting to be around his age, and she has blond hair, too, so I think she brought him back for me.”

“You can ask me anything,” Trey said. “Go ahead.”

“I know how he died,” Abby whispered. “I’d been having panic attacks when I put Annabelle in the car. Then I went to visit Mom and Dad.”

Trey squeezed his eyes shut but kept his hand steady on her back. “Abby . . .”

“They told me, Trey.” Her throat closed around the words, but she forced them out. “This is what I need to ask you: Do you know what happened to Stevie?”

“Yes.” Trey opened his eyes and looked at Abby. She felt dizzy with relief when she saw they didn’t contain any anger or blame. His blue eyes held only compassion.

“I was at home when it happened,” he said. “I don’t know
why Mom and Dad always lied and told everyone he was sick. I thought about telling you before, but I didn’t know if it was the right thing . . . I didn’t know how. But it wasn’t your fault, Abby. You were just a little kid, too.”

She leaned over and put her head on his shoulder, and then her big brother hugged her while she cried.

Twenty-five

SHE’D FINALLY DONE IT.

She’d lost twenty pounds, three hundred and twenty stubborn, hateful ounces of fat. The scale had announced the glorious number this morning, and Renee had half expected a brass band to march through the bathroom. At the very least, confetti should have streamed from the ceiling.

Instead, Renee just stood there for a long moment, staring at herself in the mirror, noticing her newly excavated triceps and whittled-down waist. This had been her goal for so long, but the euphoria she’d expected to feel was missing from her body, as if it had been siphoned away along with the weight. So she’d gotten dressed in the skinny clothes that had lived in the back of her closet for so long, then headed to work early, feeling too jittery to stay in the quiet apartment.